Smoothing Snarls
by Rosa Cotton
Summary: Peter's surprising gentleness relieves more than Wendy's tangled hair.


Disclaimer: _Peter Pan_, all characters, places, and related terms belong to J.M. Barrie.

Author's Note: A very, very belated birthday present for **narnialovers**. Peter Pan fluff.

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Smoothing Snarls

The girl winced as the teeth of the comb caught on the snarls in her hair. Again. Weary and frustrated, she gripped her hair above where the comb had gotten caught. Trying to be careful, she attempted to comb out the tangles with only partial success.

Wendy sighed, a long-suffering sigh. Her hair was not as tangled tonight as it had been in the past, but it seemed to be one more thing to top off her bad day.

She had burned breakfast, resulting in the children having to go out and find what fruits they could for their meal. During the course of the morning the boys had shown her the tree house they had been working on. Somehow she had lost her hold on the rope ladder as she climbed up and fell. She only sprained her ankle, but could not walk and was pressured by the boys to return to the house under the ground. However, she'd insisted on accompanying them to the mermaids' lagoon; so she had – carried the whole way by Peter who ignored her protests. She had watched from the shore while the boys had a jolly time swimming and playing in the lagoon, annoyed she could not join them. At dinner she started getting a headache, which had only gotten worse with the passing time. And now she could not comb her hair before going to bed.

The girl allowed the comb to slip through her fingers, watching it fall into her lap and then down to the ground. A small whimper escaped her lips as she brought her hands up to press against her temple, her eyes sliding shut. As she rocked in her rocker, she wallowed in self-pity.

She did not know how much or little time passed when a pair of warm hands touched her own, removing them slowly. She jerked her head up to find the face of one Peter Pan before her.

"Wendy?"

She could only blink in response. His eyes, usually so bright and filled with stars, were cloudy. The corners of his mouth, always ready to tilt upwards in a smug, cocky grin, were turned down. And his smooth forehead was wrinkled by a frown. Why, if it was anyone but Peter before her, Wendy would have interpreted the expression on his face to be one of concern. But that was impossible!

"Are you well?" The boy's frown darkened as he leaned closer, peering at her.

Her smile was weak. "It is nothing, just a headache."

"Have you taken some medicine?"

"Yes."

"What about your ankle?"

"It does not hurt as much."

"You shouldn't walk," he murmured, glancing at Wendy's feet and then back to her face.

"Yes, I know," she sighed, blushing as she realized he was still holding her hands. Freeing them from his grasp, she rescued her comb from the ground. She fixed her gaze on her lap as she started on her hair again, her stomach filling with butterflies as Peter continued to study her. She frowned at the stubborn snarls.

"Could I try?"

For the second time the girl looked at the boy, speechless. His gaze flickered between her face and the comb, curious. After considering for a moment, she silently offered him the comb. Her body stiffened with uncertainty when Peter rose to his feet after examining the comb for a short moment, tossing it from one hand to the other, and moved to stand behind her rocker.

It felt strange the first time Peter's hand brushed over her hair. Wendy sat straight and tense when the boy grasped some of her hair and attempted to run the comb through it. The girl bit her tongue when he yanked too hard on the comb, jerking her head back.

"I'm sorry, Wendy," he apologized. "I shall be more careful."

She only nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

And he was, yet not only careful, but also gentle. He drew the comb slowly through her hair, and the snarls slowly gave away. It was several minutes later when the boy stepped back.

Wendy let out a long silent sigh and finally relaxed. She had been still, nervous and uncertain, while he combed her hair. The girl had caught her breath every time she'd felt Peter's hands moving through her hair as he had worked. Michael had liked playing with her hair when he was younger, once even asking if he could taste it. Yet with Peter, he had been so careful and gentle that something about it all had caused the girl to blush. Now she slowly moved her hands through her hair. Her locks were now soft, rippling like waves through her fingers, free of tangles. Marveling, she accepted the comb Peter returned. She gave him a thankful, shy smile.

"Thank you, Peter."

That cocky smile greeted her, and the stars twinkled at her. "You are welcome, Wendy."

Covering a yawn, she slowly stood up, keeping all the weight on her good foot. She took a hop forward and waved her arms about, trying to keep her balance. Peter's arm came about her waist, and he helped her sit again. He shook his head at her.

"You should not be on your feet." He waved his hand when she meant to protest. "I'll get your bed things ready."

The girl was left to watch as he put down the blankets and pillow as neatly as he could. Nodding with satisfaction, he returned to where she sat. She barely had gotten up from her rocker when Peter swept her into his arms, causing her to yelp in surprise and throw her arms around his neck. "Peter…" she protested.

They were across the room after a short number of steps. Carefully, the boy lowered the girl down on her bedding. He waited until she was lying down comfortably and then drew the blanket over her. She snuggled further underneath the blanket, contentment filling her face. She smiled up at him.

"Thank you, Peter," she whispered, "again." She touched her hair lightly.

He nodded silently and gazed at her for a moment before rising to his feet. "Good night, Wendy."

"Good night, Peter."

_Tomorrow_, their eyes silently agreed.

THE END


End file.
